


Scourge

by icylook



Series: Vergil Surana [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blood and Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-08 04:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20310073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icylook/pseuds/icylook
Summary: One of Vergil’s biggest fears becoming real (again).





	Scourge

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr drabble posted on Vergil's blog (icy-warden on tumblr) with minor edits.
> 
> Timeline: Sometime during Blight.

It was on an accident, when the party stumbled upon bandits attacking refugees. There weren’t any darkspawns nearby, so neither Alistair or Vergil sensed anything strange. The path wasn’t used by many, so they gave up on scouting it ahead.

Their mistake, it seemed.

Small group of refugees didn’t stand any chances and the bandits slaughtered them without mercy. They didn’t plan on crossing paths with Grey Wardens and their companions, so after a short fight only few of the foul attackers were standing.

Vergil saw Alistair engaged in the fight with the leader and knew that Zevran and Leliana were nearby, too. They had to wrap this up soon, he had his own plans for the night.

After making sure that the ice spikes have done their job and his current opponent wouldn't be standing up any time soon, Vergil moved on to his next target.

He didn’t have the chance to react, when  _ it  _ had hit him.

Blinding white light, the booming noise reverberating in his head, his body suddenly stunned and  _ on fire. _

_ He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe _ \- but he could  _ feel  _ the pain of nerves being ripped apart in all directions, simultaneously. Vergil was utterly confused, but on his next miraculously taken breath he screamed,  _ screamed like he only have done once in his entire life. _

The shout of pure _ agony _ coming from Vergil’s direction startled Alistair and the bandit he was fighting with, took the opportunity to lunge at his exposed side. Fortunately, the warrior managed to get back to it and end her quickly.

He saw the Warden mage fall to his knees, like doll with cut strings, then falling to the side, curling into himself. Alistair never heard him screaming like that. But the bandit, which Vergil was fighting with, was taking the lethal strike. The second Warden was too far to stop him, with horror watching the sword coming down,_ down_ _onto the mage’s neck…_

The arrow knocked the bandit slightly away from Vergil, pinning his non-sword shoulder, then his knees buckled, the joints probably slashed and in a moment his throat was a gaping wound. The man has gone down, drowning in his own blood.

Zevran kneeled beside the Warden, checking him over for injuries,  _ anything  _ that caused earlier terrifying screaming. Now only sounds coming from the mage were choked whimpers of pain, his face sickly pale and frozen in the grimace. Vergil didn’t respond to his words, only squeezed his eyes shut. The rogue needed to get the mage to the healer, and fast. Not thinking too much, he hauled the Warden up. But Vergil’s legs didn’t cooperate, so he had to make a quick decision and bent down, maneuvering his arm under mage’s knees, getting him to carry in his arms.

Then he ran, not thinking about how Vergil’s fingers on his neck were clawing painfully into the skin, how his breath has gotten on more raspy edge, his body now trembling, and how he murmured hoarsely -  _ stop it stopstopit. _

When they finally got to Wynne, Vergil’s nose started bleeding, his squirming disturbing Zevran’s hold.

“Put him down, I need to see the injuries.” She ordered, tucking up the sleeves of her robes.

“There’s nothing visible there, I checked.” He grunted.

As soon as he laid the mage down, he weakly turned on his left side and threw up. Zevran put his hands on Vergil’s shoulders to keep him away from going face down on his own mess.

Wynne continued her search undisturbed, failing in finding anything more. Her lips curled to a thin line in worry.

“It’s not purely physical, so it’s on the spiritual side. He was attacked with a hex or something messing with his connection-” Her eyes widened and she looked down at Vergil, hands hovering above his trembling body.

“What is it? Can you help him?” Zevran asked impatiently. Seeing the Warden in this state was  _ unpleasant. _

“I think it was a smite.” Alistair’s voice interrupted his inner musings. The warrior was coming near, Leliana hovering behind him.

Morrigan and the rest of the party were nowhere to be seen.

“I thought I felt the energy, but…” He sighed, looking at his fellow Warden with concern. “It looks that the rogue templars  _ do _ happen. Can’t be nice.” He winced. “But I’ve never heard about a reaction  _ like that _ . Sure, stunning and a daziness for the mage, but never something like this.”

“Vergil must be more sensitive to the smite than most mages.” Wynne said, getting up from the dirt.

Zevran felt left out on the topic. “What does this  _ "smite” _ do exactly?“ He asked. Vergil seemed to calm down somewhat, but he was on the verge of passing out. He was unnaturally pale and his skin was clammy, but cold.

"It temporarily prevents the caster from connecting to the Fade and using mana.” Wynne explained shortly. “I’m afraid I can’t help much at the moment. He needs to recover on his own. There’s nothing I can do to speed up the process.”

“And how long do you think it will take, Wynne? It’s getting colder these days… We should make camp for longer, gather more wood for fire?” Alistair asked.

“It depends on the mage. Some are able to restore to full health in few hours, some in days.” She looked with sympathy at Vergil, her voice gentle.

“His reaction is evidently extreme. I can’t even  _ imagine _ how does it feel, for his body to shut down like that. He needs to rest, have plenty of water, later light food. I’ll prepare some potions. Someone should watch over him, though.”

Zevran didn’t think, when he volunteered for the task.

“I’ll keep him company. I have some experience in nursing someone to health.” He smirked at the healer, keeping his tone light. He skipped the gruesome details of the condition of his fellow Crows before the eventual help. Still, he wasn’t completely alone with a bleeding out companion, trying to close the mortal wound and  _ failing. _

They’ll be fine.

* * *

It was a long night.

Somewhat they managed to move Vergil to the camp and place him in the tent. The mage was passed out, and it certainly helped - he responded to the touch badly, shunning away like the lightest contact to his skin burnt him.

Zevran kept his watch and  _ kept himself busy _ with mending his gear, cleaning his boots - anything that gave him the occasion to do something with his hands. He was little restless. The situation was making him unusually jittery and unsure.

The mage was in and out of consciousness, curled up on his side with hands tucked under his chin. When  _ “awake” _ , he was staring blankly at nothing, not reacting to words.

Hours passed, the night has fallen fully. Zevran’s stomach grumbled lowly, reminding him of missed dinner. Leliana offered him something to eat earlier, when she stopped by to check on them, but he turned her down then. He should fix that now, eat and stretch his legs, as he’s been sitting down for hours.

It seemed his presence in the tent was indifferent to the Warden. The mage was asleep at the moment. With one last look at Vergil, he moved to the exit, only to be stopped suddenly by a hand, firmly holding his right ankle.

Vergil was looking at him with panicked wide eyes.

“ _ Don’t _ ,” he rasped. Zevran turned to him slowly, crouching beside him. He didn’t dare to try and touch the mage, stifling the urge to put a calming hands on his shoulders.

“As you wish. Not going anywhere,” he assured Vergil in soft tone. “But it’d be nice to have some dinner, and maybe, if you’re awake you’ll want something too, no? You must be hungry after so many hours of sleep.” He said with a smile.

Vergil’s hold on his leg lessened, and he closed his eyes briefly. “Not hungry,” he mumbled. Zevran perked inwardly at the coherent answer. It seemed that lucidy was returning to his Warden.

“Do you want some water then? And if I may to have my leg back for a while, I’ll go and ask Leliana- while  _ not  _ exiting the tent,” He added quickly when the mage’s fingers clinged back to his ankle. “I promise I won’t leave the area for more than few feet.”

Vergil withdrew his hand and swallowed before replying.

“Just don’t… leave, so I can’t see you.” He whispered.

Vergil felt exhausted. So _ weak _ , like his body was not his own. And he still  _ couldn’t feel it _ . Only the song, haunting him even in the dreamless darkness. It was worse than the last time it happened to him, this,  _ this punishment _ , the tearing of his magic, the vital part  _ not responding, _ his entire essence - it was…

It was horrid and  _ he was lost. _

Zevran must have nodded off some time in the night.

The sudden movement and distressed noises coming from Warden’s side were what woke him up. The low light from candle in a jar showed that Vergil sat up, long black hair in disarray.

He was clawing with both hands at his sternum.

“I can’t feel I  _ can’t feel I can’t feel it, _ ” the mage murmured desperately, between quick breaths. He managed to draw blood, the rouge noted absently, spurring into action and lunging for mage’s hands, to stop him from hurting himself further.

There was some commotion outside and suddenly Alistair’s voice disturbed the struggle, the man appearing at the tent’s entrance.

“What’s happening?!”

And what a view must they make - Vergil’s tunic and chest bloody, Zevran’s hands at the mage’s wrists, nearly holding him down.

Vergil froze in Zevran’s grip.

“That’s not what it looks like-” The rogue began, just as Alistair growled an outraged “You!”, hands balling into fists. The warrior stepped in, not listening to any explanation, angry and ready to beat Zevran down. There was no way out, with Vergil now clinging to his arms.

“No.”

Alistair stopped moving. “Vergil?”

“I… I had a nightmare,” the mage said with some difficulty. “Zevran helped.”

Zevran relaxed slightly at this.

“But the blood?” Alistair looked at their appearance, puzzled. Vergil breathed in, then out.

“I did that. Not his fault,” He slumped forward, resting his forehead on Zevran’s chest. “I’m tired.” The mage muttered.

Zevran’s arms came to embrace Vergil, lips brushing the mage’s temple. He glanced at the human. “See, no murder. I can take care of this.”

The warrior didn’t look convinced. “Can’t blame me for being cautious. It sounded and looked like murder. Still  _ looks  _ like one.” He added with a grimace.

The damp cloth gathered wet mess on the mage’s chest, the fabric red with it. Zevran carefully cleaned the skin, avoiding the scratch marks. He wrung it out in the little basin. The water turned pink in a moment.

“Your hands, my dear Warden?” He asked, holding out the cloth, but not touching.

Vergil was lying on his back, shirtless, black hair spilled like a halo. He held one shoulder up, hiding his face in the crook of an elbow. Any other time the mage would look good like that, minus the blood and exhaustion. Zevran sighed internally. What a night.

Vergil lifted his right hand towards Zevran and he started cleaning the dried blood off his fingers. He held the mage’s palm in his own hand, gently wiping them one by one, when Vergil squeezed his fingers.

Zevran stopped for a moment, glancing up at the Warden. The mage was looking at him with lightly glowing eyes, his gaze clear. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“It’s coming back.” Vergil gestured slightly to his chest. “I can feel it again.”

Zevran grinned, relief washing over him.

“Glad I can be of use, then.” He squeezed back the mage’s hand and resumed the cleaning.

* * *

Inspired by “ [ Imagine person A carrying an injured person B off the battle field. Bonus if person A is smaller than person B. ](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/141376749174/imagine-person-a-carrying-an-injured-person-b-off) ”

+bonus — at the morning

**Z:** “Oh, you’re awake.”

**V:** “I wish I wasn’t. Hangover like a fucking mountain.”

**Z:** “But at least nothing vital hurts too badly, no? I have something from Wynne for you. You need to drink it when it’s warm.”

**V:** “What is it? It smells even from here, ugh. Move away from the entrance, my bladder is on the verge of exploding.”

**Z:** “Nu-uh, drink it first. I can see the evasion tactic straight away.”

**V:** “Zevran, move away or  _ I’ll piss on your bedroll. _ ”

**Z:** “Then you’ll need to share yours with me until I get the new one. Now, drink it. It can taste better than it smells?”

**V: ** “Liar. You want me to throw up for the extra kick? Fine.”

**Z:** “See, it wasn’t so bad… or was it?”

**V:** “I… hate… you… all…”

**Z:** “Wynne said it’ll help with gaining strength, wow, I’m moving,  _ I’m moving, _ no need to be so rough, you don’t have to go so far away from the camp! Or maybe you do have to. Hmm…  _ *sips* *spits out, mumbled Antivan curses* _ Healers are scary.”


End file.
